


Alchemy

by redhandsredribbons



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Canon Compliant, Caretaking, Clothed Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Explicit Consent, F/M, Femdom, Fluff, Kink Negotiation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Second Person, Painplay, Stream of Consciousness, Sub Julian Devorak, Tarot, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2019-11-13 05:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18025589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhandsredribbons/pseuds/redhandsredribbons
Summary: You're still high off it, the heady knowledge of this alchemy: you can transmute his suffering into a purer, cleaner pain, an embodied delight.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of fell off the face of fandom earth after uninstalling Tumblr, working full-time at a metaphysical shop (for real!), and entering pagan clergy training. But now I'm back with self-indulgent BDSM feels about this game.
> 
> TWs for mention of canon injury, and under-negotiated kink. There's no real gender specificity explicit in this fic, but I see my player character as a woman, so I tagged things accordingly.
> 
> Edit: Changing the summary and some tags now that this fic has decided to become multi-chaptered!

“Sleep. Isn't that potion kicking in yet?” 

You find the answer to your question: instead of a witty reply, Julian gives only a murmur, an incoherent complaint. You press close behind him under the threadbare sheet, mouth brushing against the disordered curls at the nape of his neck. Your heart tugs tight in your chest as you stroke a gentle hand low on his abdomen. The wound he borrowed from you to save your life has left no trace now, except old bloodstains stiffening cloth. 

Your pulse still skips at the memory of the garden. His eyelid hooded with longing and his high flush when you pushed against the wound, deliberate, the little thrill of your sadism he devoured as if starved. No matter his murderer’s mark, he sacrificed something of himself, willingly, spontaneously, to save you. He calls himself a poison, but undistilled by others’ hatred, he is beautiful, safe to touch. He is good. 

You're still high off it, the heady knowledge of this alchemy: you can transmute his suffering into a purer, cleaner pain, an embodied delight. Pleasure in pain that had him biting the swell of his lip. Pleasure in pain controlled by your hand, that rose a hard outline in the front of his trousers, though you haven't touched him there yet, haven't seen beneath his clothes. The bewildered adoration in his gaze. It made you dizzy with gratitude, longing, power; between your own legs, wet and aching. It was delicious.

But now, touching him, there's no pressure, just a gentle caress, and feelings so soft you could weep if you wished to. He sighs, making a drowsy effort to shift his hips up, a restless begging for your hand despite his grandiose promise to be a gentleman. You stroke his hipbone, too prominent, with your thumb, but at his shudder of breath, you squeeze your arm around his waist instead, a stern gesture, final. 

You close your own eyes, settling in, nuzzling, content. You have time. You have to believe that you have time: you've only just found this strange, cursed man, and there will be more time for the two of you. 

A magician lives on intuition, that is your power. The Countess is right about that much. And he doesn't feel like a stranger. Perhaps your soul knew him before, perhaps not. You are at peace with following the threads of fate. You were right to trust him, right to drink from his cup, right to say nothing to his captors, and now you want only to keep him close and whole.

“Sleep,” you repeat, and his taut muscles sag in increments against you, and soon, he breathes slow and deep.


	2. Chapter 2

“What do you want me to do?” Julian begs you in the library, and you know he wants to kiss you. 

Yesterday, you asked him to try, to tell you about the future he wanted. He called it pointless, but obeyed your request. You were teaching him to form a spell of hopes, setting it out into the world, opening a door. Even as he walked away, you felt the cord between you stretch but not snap. 

And now he wants to kiss you. He wants reassurance that you'll take him back. 

You smile, wicked. It's not the right time or place, surrounded by enemies. But there are other ways to let him know how this will go.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to be a good boy for me and be quiet,” you murmur to him, scolding. “This is a library.”

Shock crosses his face for an instant before it's replaced with naked want, then he huffs out a stifled laugh. “Indeed it is,” he whispers, flushed. “You-- you're extraordinary.” He gazes down at you with awe.

It's a gaze you see again when he tells you to flee, and you refuse to leave his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This... is turning into a multi-chaptered fic now. Oops. I may ultimately have little scene fillers for the whole game.
> 
> Also, this scene is called "when I try to make the unpaid choice kinkier than the paid choice".


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for unhealthy coping skills, mention of self-harm via fights.

You argue after the bar fight. 

You've barely had a moment to rest, and no time at all to discuss what your relationship will look like. You've been swept up in crisis after crisis, staccato pinpoints of desire as the only reprieve.

But in the Red Market, when Julian spits out blood, gleeful self-cruelty in his eyes, your stomach feels heavy and cold. You pull him aside.

“Julian, listen to me,” you say. “If you want pain, I'll give it to you.” 

His expression hoods with arousal and your heart thumps in response, but you push forward. “Some stranger in a bar…” Your words choke. “Someone who doesn't care about you, they don't care what a tender thing your life is in their hands.” 

Let me cherish you, you want to say. Let me hurt you to show you how I cherish you. Don't seek those hurts that do anything else.

But you yourself were some stranger in a garden. He has a bad habit. 

“A tender thing?” He scoffs. “My dear, we don't even know if I can die!” He gestures to the mark on his throat. “A little bar fight will hardly usher me into Death's cold embrace.”

“That makes no difference, I--”

“Are you jealous, dear?” His grin is cold, leering. “You can just come out and say so. The man in the bar was burly, it's true, but you're still the most dazzling thing in the room.”

You huff in frustration. “Julian.” You switch tactics. “Do you want me?”

You've asked this before, but he still looks surprised. “I-- yes.”

“And do you want me to take charge?”

“It should be clear by now that I love when you lead.” 

That lilting eyebrow. You can't help but smile. “I get the feeling it's not just something you like for fun once in a while, is it?”

“Uh, well… no. It's... more than that. But I understand some find it distasteful… and undoubtedly… exhausting? It must be. I couldn't--”

“I--”

“I'm already exhausting, I know.” He frowns, rambling at breakneck pace. “Don't worry, I don't blame you. It's not something to worry about, you've already--”

“Julian.”

“You've already put yourself in danger to help me, I shouldn't be so selfish as to--”

“Ilya.” You're not even sure if he wants you to call him that, but it stops him in his downward spiral. “For me, it's not just a way to spice things up. I want this with you, if you want it. Do you want to be mine? In my service?”

His mouth shuts, opens, shuts again. “Yes,” he says, very quietly.

His knees nearly sag, and you suspect he wants to kneel before you. The idea is a thrill, jolting down to your fingertips, but you want him standing as an equal for this, with a clear mind.

“If you're going to be mine,” you say, “you need to understand that you'll be mine to care for, too. My responsibility. I can't let you go into danger on your own. I know you're thinking you can come to me to be hurt and punished when the mood strikes, then be free to go off and destroy yourself as you please. That's not how I work. Do you understand?”

He looks taken aback for several moments. When he finally responds, his voice is choked. “I… understand. But what did I ever do to deserve…”

There's still more to talk about, but you can't resist giving him the kind of comfort you know he aches for. You're aching for it, too. “Does a pet worry about worthiness? Or does a pet simply beg at the master’s feet?”

Julian gazes at you. “He begs.”

You reach up to stroke his hair, and he leans into your touch. 

“You're learning,” you say.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major spoilers for Julian's route! 
> 
> TW past major character death, plague/illness, medical abuse, mentions of torture... this is an angst chapter for sure. Back to regularly scheduled kink and fluff soon.

Three days.

You remember now: you died in three days.

You and Julian had a fight. After mentoring you for months, he showed you the dungeon under the library. He introduced you to Valdemar.

They seemed so much more human then. There was so much pressure, so much disease. Almost every healer had that manic glint in their eyes, sleeplessness and stimulants, desperation. They weren’t an obvious villain.

You and Julian were never truly close, not then. Strange to consider now, with the tension pulsing between you. But in the dungeons, he was nervous, and it made your stomach churn: he wanted your approval.

He tried to present the work with the end results in sight, parroting Valdemar. It would bring the cure. It would save thousands more. They would die anyway. The needs of the many. It was science. It wasn't murder.

If they'd been volunteers… but this was only terror.

You yelled. You remember that now.

You yelled that it was better to comfort every dying patient, even if their mutilation could save thousands. You couldn't play with his numbers, his logic. You remember he grieved the quarantine-- how could he support this? You were helpless, exhausted. Valdemar was impassive. Julian looked trapped.

You ripped off your mask to scream at him, and he begged you to put it back on, fear for you widening his eyes.

You stormed away, sobbing, dizzy. You were so angry that your nose bled. If he followed, it wasn't all the way. You were alone when you reached home.

In hindsight, you were almost certainly already sick. You have no doubt he blames himself for your mask. It wouldn't have made a difference.

Before you could decide what to do or who to tell about the dungeon, the cramps had started. You thought first of breakfast: bruised fruit, and cream that'd begun to sour. Had you kept it one too many days?

But soon, with the fever, the heaving, the blood, you knew. The darkened sclera. The red tears. Classic signs, a textbook case.

You said nothing to Julian. Your silence wasn't for fear of vivisection, experimentation. Even with his stammered excuses, you saw the doubt in his eyes, and you doubted he’d let them touch you. But you kept to yourself, with no energy for fraught goodbyes.

You wondered if it would be quick. Mercifully, it was. Three days from presentation.

You took a boat to the Lazaret.

What else can be said of death? You were ill. You died.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild rating change has appeared!

You and Julian scramble to undress each other before the masquerade, his hands roaming undisciplined. He'll need your instruction, when the moment isn't so fleeting. 

You suck toothy bruises into his skin at breakneck speed. Along his throat, neck, whole, unbroken, despite the taut crack of the noose.

Panting. Holding each other tight. He's hard against your stomach. His hips grind against you, once, before he jerks away like an electric shock, checking himself. 

He drops to his knees. He presses a bold kiss below your belly button, above the line of your underwear. 

“I could-- please let me--” He licks his lips.

Too bold, yes, but eager to please. Certainly in need of some discipline, you think, as a smile twitches across your face. But there's no time, no time, no…

You grasp onto focus like a rope to the drowning. You're aching and slippery between your legs, but you calm your breath, and pull away. You grab and unfold his new clothes. You hoist him to his feet.

Julian looks a wreck, swaying forward, lips swollen, red patches from your sucking mouth and teeth blooming along his neck, shoulder, chest. His eyepatch is discarded and his eyelids near shut. You hold out one leg of the trousers.

“Step in, Julian,” you say. “It's time to get dressed.”

His eyes flutter open, and he swallows, hard. With gangly limbs like a newborn deer, he lets you tug the trousers up his legs.

(Earlier, you whispered, “Can I touch you, Julian? When we’re alone? Without asking first?” “Oh yes, anywhere you want, please. Surprise me.”)

Matter of fact, you pull the pants up to his hips, then reach beneath and close your hand around his erection, through the fabric of his underclothes. Julian chokes in a breath, whispers “oh god”. 

He's hot and hard in your hand, pushing, filled with blood because he's alive. You're alive and he's alive, and none too gently you tuck his erection down, inside the confines of the sleek black pants, lacing them tight. You press against the bulge with a firm hand, as if merely arranging the costume to a best fit, smoothing lines, even as he whines and trembles. His hands clench and unclench at his sides. Your mouth waters, imagining him losing all control. 

“Hmm,” you say, stepping back to observe him straining against the fabric, “you look good, Julian, absolutely dashing. But I don't quite know if it fits.” You push and rub, rough, rearranging, as he breathes in senseless gasps. “Still, it's the best we can do. We'd better get going.”

With effort, you turn away and leave him standing, quickly dressing in your own costume. 

"Unfathomable, the depths of cruelty,” Julian says grandly after a long pause, but his voice still shakes.

Your eyes flicker up to his with sudden concern, your stomach dropping. “Too much cruelty?” You haven't communicated as much as you should, this whole journey has been a chariot dream, rushing headlong...

His expression breaks into a soft grin. “Not at all, my dear. I mean that.” He kisses you gently on the temple and you squeeze him into a hug, face nuzzled against his chest.

“Just give me a moment before we, uh, leave-- leave the tent,” he says. “These balls are bluer than the oceans of Nevivon.”

You laugh, and squeeze him tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send me kink requests please! You can comment anonymously if you want. I'm just gonna go for it with porn at this point. Porn and feels.


	6. Chapter 6

Steam rises and shifts around you, blanketing you in damp warmth as you sit at the edge of the bath. You rub creamy, fragrant foam into Julian's wet curls. Your fingers massage his scalp, gliding down to the back of his neck, then gently scritching back up again.

“I thought I was supposed to be in service to you,” he mumbles, petulant. His lolling head and blissful expression betray his attempted tone. 

“This is a service to me,” you say. “You're being so good. You’re letting me take care of you.”

“Ah.” Redness creeps across his neck and ears. He squirms under the water.

“Close your eyes,” you instruct.

You pour water over his head to rinse. You sink into the water. You kiss droplets from his closed eyelids, the tip of his nose, then his lips.

Julian opens his eyes, his expression alert now, but pensive. He takes your hand and presses it against his bare chest, against his heart. “I need to tell you something. I've, uh, I talked about making terrible mistakes. Let me be specific. I remember, and I need you to know, you were right. The experiments? Those were evil. I was so desperate to save everybody, as-- as a collective, you know? Saving the world. But the world is people, actually, uh-- each person in the world. I didn't see the trees for the forest. I was... arrogant about fixing things. And, ironically, I failed as a doctor. I did harm. A lot of harm.”

“You did,” you say simply, sliding your thumb back and forth against the center of his chest. 

You've grown, too, in this journey, and you know it's not your place to forgive him for this. For failing you, yes, you forgive him. There's nothing to forgive. But this isn't about you. 

You will be his mistress, not his savior.

“And…” Julian goes on. “You've shown me I can't just wallow in guilt. I have to come back, I have to do better.” He falters. “I-- right?”

You nod, and lean your head against his shoulder. 

“Yes,” you say, wet cheek against wet skin. “Always come back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bath part two coming soon, featuring consent chats! Angst! Porn! Feels! It just ended up being a whole other scene, so it gets a new chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

After a brief, peaceful moment, Julian shifts again. When you look up, his expression is mischievous. 

“So, darling… a bath. A rare opportunity to get dirty, maybe even rowdy, before we get clean.” He waggles his eyebrows. 

You grin. “I think we need to talk first. No, you don't have to look so nervous. I want you, you want me. But what do you want from this? Tell me.”

“I'll take whatever I can get,” Julian says, still grinning, but his eyes look haunted.

Five of Pentacles, you think. Wounded, begging in the snow. You shake your head. “That’s a mindset of scarcity. Start from unlimited possibilities.”

Julian chews on his bottom lip, the longing even starker. “I'll do anything you want.” 

You cringe. “Anything is a really big word, Julian.” 

What scares you the most is that it might be true. He's better now, he's willing to live, but not so long ago, he was willing to die.

You have to be able to trust that he can say no, or else you can't do this.

“Everyone has limits. I don't want you to just tolerate anything. I want both of us to love it, need it.”

He huffs, shifts in the water. “What about you? What do you want? That's important too!”

“It is,” you say patiently, “but I asked you first.” 

“I'm not used to this,” Julian admits. He drapes a dripping, warm arm around your shoulders, and squeezes you closer. You rub slippery fingers along his chest, stroking the base of his neck, listening. “With Asra it was…”

Asra. 

Asra loves you so much. It makes your heart ache. 

For a while, you doubted your own intuition-- surely you should love him. He loved you enough to bring you back from the dead, and you don't even know at what cost. Did you love him in your life before? Was there something terribly wrong with you, something missing, that you could not find that feeling? You lived together, and with all the rumors about the two of you, surely…? But why…?

You asked your deck. It answered. The Lovers, reversed. Four of Pentacles. Seven of Cups. You, the Queen of Cups and Queen of Swords. 

Unrequited love. Clinging too tight, in desperation. Dreams, illusions. 

You thought, perhaps, you just needed to remember. That Asra was being patient with you. He was, he is, but the only thing to remember is the ache of being the object of unrequited love, the sympathetic denier. 

You're not his. You never have been. You are lead by your intuition, by what you feel, and you are the authority in your life. You didn't ask for this debt, and you will not, cannot, give him what he craves.

But poor, sweet Asra.

“It started with, uh, blood magic,” Julian continues. “When he found out I liked the pain, it was, ah... an opportunity. He could take out anything he needed to on me. I was willing, more than willing. Dare I say it, eager." Julian frowns. “I'm not proud. I wanted more, and he was always out of reach. He pulled away from me. I think he felt trapped, so I… I provoked him. I pushed his buttons because I knew he'd lash out, and I wanted that. It was better than nothing. I was selfish, darling, can you imagine that?"

He gives you a self-deprecating grin. "When I lost my memories, I truly believed he cursed me. It seemed like he hated me! But now, I think, we brought out the worst in each other. Once he realized it, he ended it, for his sake and for mine. I saw it as abandonment. Of course.”

You nod, pressing a soft peck to his shoulder. “Thank you for telling me.”

Julian breathes in and seems to shake off his dark, pensive mood. “Sooooo, the reason for that soliloquy is that believe it or not, we, uh, we never talked about anything. Guide me, dear. I'm a smooth talker plenty, but how do I talk about this?”

“Let's start with three and one," you say, catching glance of a soap sud on Julian's earlobe and wiping it away, then smiling up at him. "Three things you want. Then one thing you don't want.”

Julian hums thoughtfully. “Well… I want you to hurt me.” 

He sees and correctly interprets your near-interruption, because he specifies. "Not anything likely to cause permanent damage, because Pasha and Mazelinka would finish the job.” Julian grins. “But I trust you wouldn't kick me in the kidneys or cut my throat. More specific than that, I… I don't know. I just… er... I crave it." He shrugs, a flush coloring his cheeks.

Surely Doctor Devorak has the creativity and anatomical knowledge to create some very specific fantasies for himself. But he's communicating more than before, and it's great for now. 

"I can work with that," you say.

"Excellent! For two, I want… I want to give up control. I want you to," he gestures at his skull, "get inside me. My, uh, mind that is, though now that I mention it, other interpretations are, ah, _very_ welcome." Julian gives you a lascivious eyebrow raise. "But I want you to take the reigns. My psychological control, my physical control, all in your capable hands. Where are we, was that two? For three, I want... “ 

He pauses, the most difficult one yet. “I want to earn the chance to be told I've done well. I want to serve you, and I want to do a good job. Not just for a few moments in bed but-- but often. In everyday life? If you'd… like that?" He takes a deep breath. "What I don't want… I don't want to be called worthless or a failure.”

"You're not either of those things," you say, "and I won't call you them. Thank you, Julian. I hear you. We're pretty compatible. Would you like to hear what I want?"

"Do I ever! Oh yes." 

You smile. "One. I want to hurt you. Overload your nerves and take you on a journey deeper and deeper into sensations you crave. Two. I want to discipline and correct you, give you structure. Three. I want to praise and pamper you, make you feel safe, show you what it means to be in my servitude and care. Even punishment will be part of care and love. One thing I don't want is I don't want to be fucked. Nothing inside me from the waist down. I don't enjoy it. Are you okay with that?” 

Not all men are. Some men think it's a natural destination, an inevitable and ultimate conclusion, instead of one act you don't particularly care for, out of infinite body combinations.

From hazy and sex-dazed during most of your words, Julian jolts alert at the question. “Of course!” He's so sincere he looks frantic with concern, hand gestures splashing the water. “Darling, I'd never ask for anything that might not give you absolute pleasure.”

Wherever did you find him? Your heart swells with fondness. “You're welcome to ask for anything, Julian, I'll never punish you for that. I just reserve the right to say no. Will you do the same for me? Say no to me?” You can't help it: you hold your breath.

“What if I said no,” he answers cheekily, then, “yes, darling. I'll tell you no. Pinky promise.”

He flourishes a pinky at you, and you wrap your lips around it, sucking. He groans. Your shoulders above the water are cooling and tingling but your body pulses with heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two aren't done with this bath yet, don't worry. This scene got really long again.
> 
> For the record, I'm all for Asra/Apprentice and polyamory with Julian, Apprentice, and Asra. During my particular playthrough I wasn't feeling it when the game prodded me in Asra's direction, so this backstory emerged and my Apprentice loves Asra as a friend. But go forth and polyship if that is something you like!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments welcome, and thanks for reading!


End file.
